


Heartbeat

by Lilly_13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Illness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:10:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilly_13/pseuds/Lilly_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg can't sleep, instead he keeps watch while Mycroft does.<br/>(no character death)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I have no idea where this came from but here it is.
> 
> Not brit-picked but beta read by the amazing goldpeaches. All remaining mistakes are my own.

The clock on the bedside table shows 2:04am in bright red letters and Greg knows he should be sleeping. He has work to get to in the morning after all. Yet, he can’t. Instead he is watching the man next to him sleep. Well, breathe, actually.  
It has been his night time activity for the last four nights, ever since Mycroft returned home. The light from the streetlamp is shining through a gap in the curtains and it’s just enough light for Greg to make out the rise and fall of Mycroft’s chest.

There was a time, only a few days ago, when he thought he’d never have this again. When Mycroft had stopped breathing for a short while. Not that Greg had been there when it happened, but he knew about it and that was more than enough to fill him with worry.  
Mycroft makes a soft sound in his sleep and continued breathing peacefully under Greg’s watchful eye. Carefully, as not to disturb the sleeping man, Greg reaches out and trails his fingers through Mycroft’s chest hair until his fingers come close the still healing scar. The stitches were done with a special kind of thread, Greg can’t remember the name, only the best for Mycroft. Minimal scaring. Not that it mattered.

He can feel Mycroft’s heart beat under the tips of his fingers. Slow but strong. Hard to imagine Mycroft’s heart, too, had stopped. It had been the cause for the scariest days in Greg’s life. Part of him wishes he had been there when it happened. The heart attack. Another was glad he wasn’t. Mycroft’s people handled the situation as always, efficiently and successful. Greg thinks he would have probably ended being in the way, causing more harm than good, but he would have been there to hold Mycroft’s hand, if nothing else. To take some of the fear away.

The surgery went well. The best cardiologist London had to offer, only the best for Mycroft. Mycroft had recovered quickly and was back home, although not yet back at work. While Greg had wanted to stay home as well, Mycroft had nearly kicked him out the first morning. Too annoyed by people fussing over him, especially with his mother visiting and fussing the most of them all. So, Greg had used the nights to watch over his husband, filling the need to make sure everything was still alright. 

They hadn’t really talked about it, Greg had tried but Mycroft had brushed him off, assuring him he was fine. Somehow Greg doubted that, but Mycroft was stubborn and so Greg had let it rest. For now. 

The heart is still thrumming steadily under his fingers, the chest still rising and falling in an even rhythm. Everything is as it should be. Still, Greg fears if he takes his eyes off, or closes them, the situation might change. He might not be as efficient as Mycroft’s team, he fears, so he needs to keep watch. Needs to stay alert to be able react at the first sign of an emergency.

Mycroft whimpers in his sleep and his breath hitches, the heart starting to beat faster- it all causes Greg to tense. He waits, monitors, worries. Then Mycroft’s wakes up. Greg can see him blink rapidly, can feel him inhaling deeply and finally his breathing slows again, so does his heart.

“Gregory?” Greg startles slightly when hears the voice. “Why are you still awake?” Mycroft yawns and Greg wonders where on earth he finds that sort of peace that lets him sleep. 

“Can’t sleep,” Greg replies, and it’s the truth. He hears Mycroft sigh before his hand is pulled away from his chest. Greg is about to protest when he feels soft lips brush over his knuckles.

“I’m fine, love. You don’t need to worry.” Greg wishes it would be that easy. He still tries to smile, even though he’s sure Mycroft can’t see it in the dark.

“I know. It’s just…” He trails off, remembering Mycroft’s unwillingness to talk and ends up huffing in frustration.

“You need sleep,” Mycroft mumbles and yawns again and then rolls over, ending up half on top of him. It causes Greg to frown, Mycroft isn’t a cuddler, prefers his own space so this is unusual but much appreciated. “Sleep,” Mycroft says again, already nearly asleep again himself but he reaches out and gives Greg’s hand a soft squeeze.

Greg just hums in reply, still surprised by Mycroft’s behaviour. However, this way he can feel the soft, warm puffs against his neck when Mycroft exhales, can feel Mycroft’s heartbeat against his side. The warm weight of his husband body against his, the random twitches of his fingers where he holds onto Greg’s hand.

It’s soothing, Greg finds. Feeling Mycroft being alive and having him so close. He rests his cheek on the top of Mycroft’s head, the soft hair adds to the comfort he is expiring and he feels himself relax for the first time since he got the call. His eyes fall shut of their own accord. He is tired, after days of barley sleeping and, finally, he lets go and allows sleep to claim him.

Mycroft is alive and will be so in the morning. No need to worry, he tells himself before he drifts off completely.


End file.
